


Become What You Hate

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Midtown
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A belated birthday ficlet for Morganya, who requested fic based on the canonical start of Pete and Gabe's relationship: "I fucking hate that guy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Become What You Hate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/gifts).



Pete did not plan to end up in a bathroom with Gabe fucking Saporta. That was actually sort of the opposite of his plan. Such as it was, his plan was to talk about lyrics and bass and van life, and then maybe casually offer to get high together.

But Gabe Saporta. Fucking Gabe from Midtown. All hips and eyes and _hey man, I got something to show you, c'mon._

And Pete had had a couple of beers and a handful of pills, because a show night was no time to be edge. So instead of bringing up any of his list of topics, he just followed Gabe back like a puppy, smiling and wagging until he was up against the wall with Gabe's tongue in his throat.

At which point he pretty much forgot about everything, because he's a fucking sucker for kissing. He's weak for it. And Gabe, Midtown Gabe, he's got to stop thinking of him like that but apparently he can't, Gabe from Midtown is a really, really good kisser. Tongue. And warm soft lips, he must have some kind of miracle chapstick. And his hands, big broad hot hands that span Pete's waist and just hold him still.

Making out with Gabe from Midtown in a club bathroom. After a Midtown show. Half of Pete is giddy about it while the other half hates himself with a pure and holy heat.

Gabe puts his finger down the back of Pete's jeans and pokes him in the ass. Pete jumps and curses under his breath.

"Hey, dude," Gabe says. He's almost crooning at him, like he's gentling a scared animal. "Hey."

"Not my ass." It's supposed to be a request, but it comes out hostile and challenging. Like he'd fight Gabe about it.

Gabe slides his hand up to the base of Pete's spine. "Not an ass man. Got it." He kisses Pete again, deep and pushy, and Pete just surrenders again, because he's a fucking _loser_.

Gabe breathes against his mouth, hard and hot, his hand pushing up under Pete's shirt. "Anything else you don't like?"

Pete stares up at him, trying to remember how to answer, but all he can do is gasp and squeak when Gabe finds his nipple and pinches. 

Gabe grins. "You like that. Okay." He pinches again, and _twists_ , putting his mouth over Pete's again before he can cry out. "Fuck, you're pretty," he breathes when he breaks the kiss off. "Do you suck cock?"

The air stutters in Pete's throat, threatening to choke him and fuck all of this up. "That's what you want?"

Gabe rolls his hips against Pete, pressing him harder against the wall, and Pete closes his eyes at the feeling of Gabe's dick, hard and thick against his belly. Gabe definitely wants it. Wants _him_.

"Yeah," Pete says, looking up at Gabe. He licks his lips and pushes at him, trying to get enough space between them that he can breathe. "Yeah, I suck cock."

Gabe steps back and pivots on his heel, twirling like he's Michael Jackson or something. His shoulders bump hard against the wall and he spreads his heels apart to shoulder-width, leaving himself braced and open, gesturing down his body in invitation. "C'mon, then."

Pete gets down on his knees, focusing on the way the tight fabric of his jeans pulls against his skin instead of how he's about to blow Gabe from Midtown. Or how Gabe is fucking smirking at him, like this is some kind of a joke. Fuck him if he thinks it's a joke. Pete only sucks cock for people who are awesome and deserve it.

He reaches for Gabe's fly, fumbling the button and catching the ragged edge of his thumbnail in the zipper, tearing it almost to the quick. He puts his thumb in his mouth and sucks on it to ease the sting, reaching in with his other hand to find Gabe's cock. Gabe groans above him and Pete glances up, pushing his thumb into his cheek without thinking.

"Fuck," Gabe says. "That's fucking hot. You're, like. You're a pro at this, right? Got all the little tricks, all the poses."

Pete's face gets hot, blood rushing up from his chest and leaving his neck feeling tight and his skin stinging, feeling like it's stretched too tight over his bones. He wants to spit and correct him, but Gabe's pushing his hips forward and his dick is bobbing out free, poking at Pete's face. It's _right there_ , thick and red and a little slick at the tip, and Pete can _smell_ it. 

He wraps his free hand around the base, drops his other hand to his lap, and licks the head, giving himself a second to remember the sour-salty flavor before he takes Gabe in. It's easy, once you remember how. Just breathe, and feel, and use your tongue, and don't bite, and don't choke. Feel the strain in your jaw but don't let it get to you. Close your eyes. 

Gabe's fingers curve around the back of his head and hold him in place. Pete likes that, as long as it doesn't turn into pushing him down before he's ready, and it doesn't, with Gabe; Gabe seems to just want to touch him. That's okay. That's cool, actually, that's like this is something he and Gabe from Midtown are _doing together_. He can jerk off on that thought for weeks.

"Fucking hot," Gabe says, digging his fingers against Pete's skull. "Yeah, you're fucking good at sucking dick."

Pete hums around him and Gabe's hips jerk hard. Dudes are so easy. 

Gabe pulls back and comes on his face, way sooner than Pete expected. "Fuck," he shouts, wiping his eyes clean and realizing a minute too late that he's got jizz dripping down onto his favorite t-shirt. "What the fuck, warn a guy."

"Sorry," Gabe says, half-laughing and maybe half-sincere. "Sorry, bro."

"Fuck you. My fucking shirt. My fucking _eyes_."

"Hey." Gabe offers his hand, but Pete swats it away and stands up, stumbling over to the sinks. "Hey, man, c'mon. You were fucking sucking my cock, what did you think was going to happen?"

Pete hates Gabe from Midtown. He fucking hates Gabe Saporta. "Fuck you."

"Fuck yourself. Don't be a whiner."

A _whiner_ , Pete can't fucking believe this. He turns around and throws a punch, misjudging the distance and his own balance so it just glances off Gabe's chest. It still sends Gabe a step back, his eyes wide with shock.

"Are you seriously going to fucking hit me? Dude. Calm the fuck down."

"I ever see you again, I'm gonna mess you up," Pete says, trying to get his voice down into the range where it growls. "I'm telling you. I mean it. You see me coming, you better cross the street."

Gabe stares at him for a long moment, then shakes his head and moves toward the door. "Dude, whatever. Go fuck yourself."

Pete stands there seething long after Gabe's gone, the puts his fist through the mirror above the sink just on general goddamn principles. Anger and humiliation are principles. Probably.

Then he goes looking for his guys, who'll have something he can drink or smoke or take to make his hand stop hurting and let him forget about this whole shitty night. And fucking Gabe Saporta. Pete wouldn't piss on that guy if he was on fire. He fucking hates that guy.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Midtown song of the same name.


End file.
